Le matin exquis
by Millie
Summary: But here she was, seventy-three and experiencing love for the first time in its raw and heartbreaking, heartaching form.
1. Daybreak

Daybreak

Sun / Atlas

watch?v=lOQrfLFDUKY

 _Pulling at the seams,_  
 _our once barren world now brims with life,_  
 _that we may fall in love_  
 _every time we open up our eyes._  
 _I guess space, and time,_  
 _takes violent things, angry things_  
 _and makes them kind._

The sun peeked into the room through slanted blinds, the sound of the ocean crashing against the beach roused her, woke her from a deep, uncharacteristic sleep. Her senses slowly awoke, limb by limb, a tingling, alert sensation stretched out from her center. A warmth radiated near her, the left side of her body ensconced in the curve of another form, another body.

A bird chirped as it flew past the window, the hints of springtime filling in around her. The smell of new growth fluttering in on the ocean breeze.

The events of the previous day floated through her half-woken brain stringing themselves together in an incoherent pattern. A storm off the coast, the hot air balloon ride, the loss of power until an early morning hour, unanswered questions, a shared bed.

The arm rested across her stomach. She was suddenly acutely aware of its pressure as it laid there, fingers splayed out against her exposed flesh. Her night shirt had ridden up, the hand was dangerously near to her breast.

Even breathing ghosted against her neck, dark hair curled against her cheek.

Fingers rustled, fidgeted for a moment against her stomach before settling again, pulling her attention to the soft hand resting against her. To the artful fingers that created, cared, cultivated, smoked pot, gardened, grasped at her, pulled her in, clung to her despite her best efforts to keep them away.

Finding solace in her bed mate's deep sleep, she found her free hand hovering over the errant hand, a finger daring to trace over the soft skin, upwards over a gentle finger.

The breathing stumbled over itself, breaking from its even in and out pattern. Though there was no other movement, no indication that the woman beside her had actually woken. Her fingers trailed over the soft skin, daring to caress down the arm she so often admired when they were in the kitchen taking her blood pressure. Mornings had not been the same since the stroke, but they held a new meaning. The skin was so smooth, tender like a baby's. She marveled at the way it felt, reveling in this moment of freedom to explore as she wished.

Dawn was a magical time of day, a time that she had always enjoyed most. The possibilities felt endless, the darkness of night had subsided and she was again in the light. And this morning she was no longer alone - not out of the woods, but not alone either.

When the hand that had rested atop her slowly wrapped itself about her arm, the pads of fingers gently massaging against her forearm, she thought nothing of it, only allowed the feeling of skin against skin to linger, play against one another. Hands slid, inched their way towards one another so that fingers intertwined, grasped at one another.

Her eyes stayed fixed upon their fingers, aware that her shirt was still askew, revealing a hint of her breasts. She was suddenly very aware of her breasts, the way the air moving in the room blew across them, the way her bedmate's breath sent shivers over her skin.

Fingers unraveled, circles over her barren skin, grasping slightly at her side, moving upwards painfully slowly. She reached down to pull at the hand, to move it upwards, to urge it to where her body seemed to want it most in that moment. The palm of her bed mate's hand fit over the curve of her breast, thumb and forefinger resting on either side of her pert nipple. She watched as the two nimble fingers closed in about the nipple, twisting it ever so slightly, squeezing, stroking.

Lips muttered against her shoulder, pressed intimately against her neck. The sensation sent a shiver through her body, a surprise jolt that brought about a new craving. Though she was afraid to look, to acknowledge who was exquisitely fondling her breast.

Silence clung to the early morning air, no sound but the unevenness of her breathing, the near silent breathing of her bed mate and the distant click of a clock somewhere in the beach house. A finger slid over the nipple, the woman seemingly transfixed by the breast.

She could forgive this behavior because without looking, without acknowledging she could pretend that _she_ was asleep and not at all aware of what it was that she was doing. Yes, that could easily be explained away, couldn't it?

Though the body shifted, moving in ever so much closer. Lips found their way to her neck, her jaw. She braced herself for a kiss, for a real kiss to her lips. Her eyes closed, blocking out the world, focused solely on the sensation of that divine hand and those talented lips. Though just as she felt herself succumbing to a near kiss on the lips she felt the woman's mouth wrap about her untouched breast, the warmth and wetness shocking her, forcing her to look down at the mess of grayish-brown curls.

Her left hand betrayed her, tangled into the silky strands, back arching into the mouth of the woman near her, practically on top of her. There was an awareness to this moment while still feeling as if a dream. She wondered if she would wake up and discover her roommate fast asleep still. Yes, she could still wake up from this if she wanted, but she didn't in that moment. She wanted her lips, she wanted to feel those magical lips against her own.

She prodded slowly, gently, urging the other woman upwards. Their eyes met briefly then, so crystal clear and blue as the sky and as real as real could be. There before her in technicolor. She had to close her eyes, to erase the image of the truth she captured there in that moment, the beauty, the pain, the care, the concern, the lo-

Their lips lingered in space, hovered before she lifted her head upwards and took what her bedmate willingly gave. There was an instant intimacy to it, a powerful, shocking sensation ripping through her like she had never felt before. Not with Phil, not with anyone.

With her eyes pressed closed she felt seen, truly seen, for who and what she was. It was vulnerable and frightening but she couldn't pull herself away from what her body so desperately needed without having ever known it had needed it. There was a healing to it, a revitalization, rebirth. This kiss, this dreamlike kiss.

Was she dreaming it all? It felt so real. She could smell the ocean, she could feel the sun against her skin, the body practically atop hers, the lips pressed to her own, the hand still resting against her breast.

It was painful when the kiss finally broke. When her roommate pulled herself away for a moment. Her eyes opened, searching, wishing, wanting for more, or perhaps wanting to wake up and discover that it had all been in her mind, all in a dream – as it had been before (though she would never admit it).

Their eyes met, so intense that it knocked the breath out of her lungs. That look, that look of complete openness and honesty. It shook her to the core.

The woman above her bowed her head, taking in the spans of body before her, eyes trailing over her as she had never been looked at before. Her fingers curled against her scalp, holding her close, though she was scared, scared now that it was all a dream and that she would crumple into a thousand pieces, scatter, and float away and this would all be forgotten, brushed aside.

That hand, those talented fingers slid downwards. She watched their trajectory, knowing their intended mark, knowing before they covered her thigh that they would touch her intimately. She watched as fingers slid upwards between her thighs, pressing into intense tenderness as they moved upwards over the soft material of her pajama bottoms.

"Frankie," Grace gasped, more awake now than she had ever felt in her life. Her breathing quickened, she scampered into a seated position, flustered, pulling at her shirt, covering herself, covering the body that had only moments before been so open and so pliant, willing.

Frankie sat up facing her, no fear in her tranquil eyes.

"What were you doing?" Grace's voice quivered, pulling the blanket up over herself as if it could protect her from the flushed feeling invading her every sense.

"Grace, please breathe." Frankie reached out for her, but she batted her hands away, feeling betrayed. Her body had betrayed her.

"I should have never agreed to let you stay in bed with me. You're like a child. It was only a storm." Her fingers raked through her hair, uncertain in their movements. She only knew how to push away, not pull in.

"I know you're just saying that because you're scared, Grace. Please try to calm down so we can have a reasonable discussion about this." Frankie's voice was gentle. How could she be so calm about this? How could she have let this happen when she knew she would make amends with Jacob and run off with him to Santa Fe – the most Frankie of all American cities. She belonged there, she belonged there with Jacob. Not here, not in Grace's bed, not touching Grace, not making her feel this way.

"Why would you do that?" Grace panted, near hyperventilating.

Frankie looked a little anxious then, knowing that Grace was going into panic mode and there would be no way of reeling her in until it passed. "Grace," Frankie sighed, afraid to reach out but wanting nothing more than to comfort Grace. Grace could sense this and felt conflicted. "Okay, I see what this is about."

"Do you?" Grace braced herself, curling into herself for she could not think of anything else to assuage her broken open self. Vulnerability had never been her strong suit.

"This is because of Jacob, isn't it?" Frankie's hand came to rest on Grace's foot, needing to be near.

"And the fact that you…" Grace's eyes closed and she gulped down air. "I told you that you could go with him, I told you that you could leave, I let you go. And now you're in my bed and I can't – I can't – "

"Grace," Frankie scooted closer but Grace wouldn't let her wrap her arms around her. She needed space. She held Frankie at a distance. "Grace, please. Listen to me. And try to breathe."

"I need you to leave." Grace shoved, thrust at the woman with a force she hadn't known could come from her own lithe frame. "Get out of my room, please." Fear wrapped itself around her until she was choking, lost too deep in a sea of Frankie.

"Can't we just talk about this, man?" Frankie sputtered as she fell backwards.

"No, _man_ , I don't want to talk about it. I can't talk about it. I need you to get out of my room. Get out of my bed. Get away. Please, Frankie." Grace stood from her bed, stood in the harsh morning light that now disfigured the room. She was repulsed by herself, by her actions. As her eyes opened wider she felt her stomach sinking.

Frankie stumbled and fumbled her way up, concern etched in every inch of her face, worry for her friend evident. "Grace, you're hurting right now and we need to talk about it." Frankie's arms wrapped about her upper arms, holding her, trying to brace her.

"I don't want to talk." Grace growled, anger brewing as she walked the duo towards the bedroom door, pushing at Frankie, unable to look her in the eyes.

"You're hurting me, Grace." Frankie yelped, but Grace needed her to leave, needed to be alone.

"Stop resisting me, just go. Please." Grace untangled herself, leaving Frankie in the hallway. She couldn't even look at her as she closed the door, collapsing slowly, painfully to the floor.

"Grace," Frankie's low voice inquired from the other side of the door. Her presence lingered, it was as if she were still in that suddenly too small room with Grace. Yet, a door separated them and it still felt too close for comfort.

Why wouldn't she just go away?

"I'm okay, Frankie." Grace tried through tears to appease the woman, to urge her to go away and leave her alone.

"That's not what it looked like when I was forcibly removed from the room." Frankie persisted.

Grace worried her lip, replaying the past few moments again in her head. Had she really dragged Frankie across the room and away from her because she had dared to reach out, to touch her? Because she had given in to what Grace had asked for? Oh God, she really was a monster, wasn't she? "Oh God, Frankie?" Grace wept, "Frankie."

"Yes, Grace. I'm still here. Sending the spirit of my arms through the door to wrap about you because I can feel your pain. Even through this wooden barrier." Frankie's voice was beside her ear now, as if the woman had stooped down to her level to communicate with her, to reach out to her.

"Frankie, did I hurt you?" Grace whispered, knowing the other woman – despite her poor hearing – would register the question.

"No, no Grace you didn't hurt me." Frankie insisted. "I would prefer to talk to you without this barrier, though. Would you let me in? I just want to talk, Grace. No funny business."

"Not funny." Grace groaned. The very mention of it, the very acknowledgement that it had – in fact – taken place made Grace's stomach flip, an agitation seeping into every inch of her being. No, she needed to be alone, to control this wild beast that was suddenly growing – unstoppably – inside of her. She had to tame it, to push it back and dull the ache deep inside. If she gave into Frankie now she might find herself in deeper water and there would be no turning back. A line would be crossed and then if Frankie still left – Grace knew she couldn't go on. Not after _that_. Just the fact that those annoyingly chatty lips - lips that Grace had never thought about a day before moving in with the other woman - had kissed her was already pushing her to a place she was afraid she could not recover from.

"Grace?"

"Uh huh?"

"Just checking to make sure that you're still alive."

"I'm still alive, Frankie."

"Well you never know at our age."

"Frankie, I'm okay. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but please…please. I – I need to be alone right now."

"Grace, I thought that you – "

"Please," Grace begged, wanting nothing more than to be left alone to her thoughts, to herself, to time and space without Frankie. Without the thought of Frankie touching her like she was the most beautiful, precious person in the world.

"Alright, okay Grace. I am moving away from the door," there was some ungraceful rustling in the hallway, several attempts at standing, and finally the woman's feet came to rest near Grace's back. "You're not mad that we…"

"No," Grace breathed before realizing she'd said it. Her heart leapt into her throat and she wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself. "I'm not mad, Frankie. I need some space right now." She needed to breathe, she could hardly get her lungs to expand.

"I'll be in my studio. But I'll be back to haunt you with some food if I don't see ya around soon." Frankie jokingly threatened, though her jokes were weak. There was a hint of worry in her voice, an unrest at the unsettling events that had followed their brief prelude that morning. Their brief foray… "I don't regret it, Grace." Frankie packed a punch with her parting words. Whispered though they might have been.

Grace could hear Frankie's footsteps as they padded their way to the stairs and away from her. And instantly she felt very, very alone.

Grace's eyes closed, head falling back against the wood of the door. She needed a second to process, she needed time to think, to clear her head. Every inch of her body told her to run, to hide, to get out now before she'd be hurt. Pulling her knees to her chest she rested her forehead against her folded limbs, tears falling against her pajama pants.

She wanted to resist everything that made her think of Frankie, but in that moment she found herself breathing through the tears. Breathing in, breathing out. Repeat. Breathe. She had to reign herself in, to gain some clarity, some control over the situation.

What had happened? She'd been dreaming hadn't she? It had all been a dream, a horrible, wonderful dream. She couldn't help the arousal she had felt, still felt. The way her body was humming, alive. Warmth permeated every crevice, every corner but as she sat collapsed into herself she felt the warmth slowly fade out, slip from her grasp. The room itself was cooler, chilly even.

She shuddered and fought her way into a standing position. She retreated to the bed, determined to go back to sleep and forget the whole ordeal had happened, to make as if it had never happened at all. Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe the storm had never happened, maybe Frankie had told her she would be leaving to go to Santa Fe after all.

Curling onto her side she realized the bed felt colder. It was lacking something. It was empty. It was no longer comfortable.

She shifted, trying another position.

Then another.

Exasperated, Grace fell open on her back. Legs spread wide, arms stretched out to either side. This was her bed for Christ's sake. This was where she slept, where she enjoyed sleeping, had enjoyed being alone beneath the covers.

Now it just felt…lonely. As it had the night after she'd succeeded in kicking Frankie out after the robbery.

"Ugh," she rubbed at her forehead, the hum of her body rose from a dull ache to a near scream.

Legs still wide she looked downwards, down to where dream Frankie – (for it had to have been dream Frankie, hadn't it? Real Frankie would never have …) - had touched, had allowed her fingers to gently curl. "Oh," her chest fluttered at the thought, at the idea of the contact.

It was better this way, wasn't it? Better to push Frankie away instead of allowing her into this mess of emotion. Yes, it was certainly better to work this out on her own. This way kept things neat, categorized. Frankie was with Jacob. Frankie was moving to Santa Fe. Grace would be left to herself, left alone to fend for her own body and its needs, so it was better, wasn't it? Better that she extracted the vibrator she had created with Frankie. The vibrator that could remind her of the woman without actually involving the woman in any intimate part of her being.

She was surprised by how little she needed. How ready and wanting and easy she was. The device barely swirled over her and she felt herself falling. She gasped when her body responded too eagerly, the tumble shaking her to the core with its intensity.

"Oh God," she gasped against her pillow. Though it wasn't her pillow anymore because it smelled of Frankie. "Oh God," the tears fell one after another as the realization settled itself into her conscious. There was no more denying it.

And it hurt, it felt like her heart was in a thousand pieces.

Why would Frankie have done that? _Why?_


	2. Mid-Day

Mid-Day

Woodwork / Atlas

watch?v=2ZQ4V9J4DhM

 _It's a cruel, cruel trick_  
 _How we find ourselves_  
 _When we lose everything else_  
 _Like a train wreck_  
 _The sound of your breathing hits my ears_  
 _The world reappears_  
 _And it breaks us new_

She wore her robe like armor. Tip-toeing down into the kitchen - relieved that Frankie had not followed through on her word to come to her rescue with what would probably have been some eclectic plate of cheese and various assortments of candies that she would have magically dug up from the cabinet recesses - she found herself in search of a bottle of vodka and something to eat because she was beginning to feel dizzy holed up in her room. Perhaps if she could sneak into the kitchen unnoticed, she could collect up enough food to last her through the night and then she wouldn't have to face –

The smell of pot floated in from the open patio doors.

Grace froze, mid-step into the kitchen, wondering if her housemate had noticed her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she stood still.

This was foolish, to suddenly be afraid of Frankie. Frankie, the woman who barely knew how to operate her phone, or who, on occasion, ate gummy worms on her avocado sandwiches. This woman who practiced daily meditation and weird throat singing. She was harmless, wasn't she?

Maybe, if the woman were stoned enough she might have forgotten what it was that had happened that morning. Perhaps they could graze over it, pretend like it had been a minor slip-up, and perhaps they could move on from there, move forward until it was a tiny blip on their radar. Perhaps when Frankie left for Santa Fe it could serve as a fond memory of Grace. The one time that Grace had actually let her in instead of repelled her with her harsh words and criticism.

But she had been rough with Frankie. She had shoved her out of the room. It irked her that she had treated her so poorly. Again. Always pushing the woman away every chance she got and now she'd actually gone and shoved her physically. She would understand if the woman were angry and needed some space from her.

Curiosity took over and Grace found herself pulled towards the smell of sage and marijuana. She needed to know that the woman was okay. She was concerned, as any friend should be concerned. She wanted to make an apology for her behavior.

Frankie sat straight up, legs folded beneath her, hands resting on her knees, eyes closed. She looked to be in some sort of deep meditation and Grace was afraid to interrupt her. Perhaps she should have followed through with her initial plan of sneaking in and out of the kitchen.

An eye flickered open, as if Frankie had sensed her presence, knew that she was looming in the background. "I see you, Grace."

"Isn't it a little early to be smoking?" Grace quipped. Perhaps she could make the situation look normal if she used her bad humor to distract and entertain the gray-haired woman now staring at her.

"Isn't it a little late for you to still be in your pajamas?" Frankie's come back flowed quickly.

Grace peered down at herself, as if remembering that she hadn't taken the time to change, had not had the strength to pull herself together. And why should she? When she had intended on barricading herself in her room for the rest of the day. That prickly, see-through feeling settled itself about her again. She didn't like being so easily read by her housemate. So seen, too seen.

"Touché." Grace conceded, sitting upon the chair across from Frankie's. Far enough away for comfort, just the right amount of space between them.

"I was just about to bring you up some provisions, but now you've made an appearance so you've spared me a trip up the stairs." Frankie's eyes twinkled.

Grace ran a hand through her messy hair, feeling unkempt, undone. "Listen, Frankie, I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning." She could breeze through this and make her way back to her bedroom hideaway in no time, maybe even with some coffee and vodka to spare on her return trip back.

"Which part?" Frankie's voice held little humor. Grace realized she'd fallen into a new arena which she had not been adequately prepared for. Her heart pounded.

"What do you mean? When I shoved you, of course. I didn't mean – I hope I didn't hurt you. Did I?" Grace stared up at her friend, fear clinching at her chest. Why was it that she was always apologizing to Frankie? Frankie, the woman she had despised for years because they had been so very different from one another, because she had never understood until recently how or why Robert insisted they share homes and vacations so that she had always been stuck with Frankie and now she was looking at her with a fresh perspective and it frightened her. Frankie had always been there, had always been willing to lend an ear when Grace had been having troubles with any of her friends, or Robert, or the kids. Frankie had been there like a loyal dog no matter how Grace had treated her and now here Grace was, frightfully opening herself - opening her true, neatly hidden away bits - up ever so slightly, realizing, knowing that now this woman whom she'd abused for forty years had the power to break her. And that frightened Grace, more than anything.

"I'm not broken, Grace. I'm not _that_ fragile yet. Call me in another fifteen years and we might have another story, but I'm still agile." Frankie twisted about for effect.

"You're sure I didn't bruise you or…"

"Grace," Frankie held up her hand to stop Grace's continued apology. "As the great Zen Buddha said 'Actions speak louder than words'."

"I don't think Buddha said that, I'm pretty sure it was Abraham Lincoln." Grace rebuffed.

"We're not on Jeopardy." Frankie shrugged. "And you're deflecting. You wanna tell me about what happened this morning?"

"You think _I_ should tell _you_ about this morning? If I remember correctly you were the one wrapped around me in the first place." Grace snapped, denial level high. This had not been her intended conversation. She should have grabbed the food and run away again, not have _this_ conversation.

"Ah ah, Grace. I think it was you who – "

"It doesn't matter who did what, Frankie. It shouldn't have happened."

There was a pause, as if her words were some kind of slap in the face. "Are you ashamed that it did?" Frankie seemed genuinely hurt then, gone was her playful air.

"I – I," Grace stuttered, a very ungraceful thing of her to do. Words were lost, floating away on the afternoon breeze. Grace clinched and then unclenched her hands. "You're not ashamed of it?"

"No," Frankie's mouth formed a perfect "o" as she dragged out the word. "I am _not_ ashamed of what we did. I'm very good at doing what we did and you're not too bad yourself, missy." The praise sent a flush to Grace's cheeks that she rather resented. "Stop folding up into your ill-conceived, impenetrable tower. I'm climbing up your hair, Rapunzel, and once I get to the top I want to see the real you."

"What, I'm a Disney character now? I hate Disney." Grace grimaced at the comparison.

"It seems I woke you with a kiss to the lips, Sleeping Beauty. I do mean that, you're quite beautiful when you sleep." Frankie spoke frankly.

"You watched me sleep?"

"Oh, stop diverting attention away from the issue at hand, Grace. What happened after I – "

"We don't have to put words to it." Grace stopped her and looked down to the ground, unable to make eye contact with the woman across from her.

"After I touched your fully-clothed clitoris."

Grace covered her face. "Okay, we put words to it."

"The clitoris is a beautiful, vibrant organ." Frankie insisted. "But you didn't answer my question again. Grace, why did you push me away? I thought you were there with me. And don't try to deny it. I was there too, girl."

Grace looked up then, head tilted with a questioning look on her face. "And why were you there?"

"Grace…" Frankie's face was stern, there was no distracting or diverting her from her answer.

Grace sighed, feeling like Frankie had cornered her, that she had been caught and could not escape unscathed. Frankie saw her, Frankie knew. "I panicked this morning because I'm afraid." Fear shot through her as she spoke the words, as they fell forward clumsily and landed in the space between them.

"Of what?" Frankie pushed.

Grace closed her eyes tightly, pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging them close to her. How she longed for the solace of her bed, to not be under Frankie's impenetrable gaze. "I'm afraid of getting hurt. When you leave."

"I'm not going anywhere," Frankie seemed confused, dazed by the admission. "Where would I go, Grace?"

Grace felt a tear slide down her cheek. She looked up at the woman and laughed in disbelief. "To Santa Fe with Jacob."

"Grace," Frankie fluttered from her patio chair to where Grace sat curled into a ball. She settled down beside her, but kept her distance. And for that Grace was grateful, though her chest shuddered as a sob ripped through her. She hated that she had lost control of her emotions. "Grace, I'm not going to Santa Fe."

"You're – you're not?" Grace hiccupped through rough tears.

"No, of course not." Frankie wrapped her arms about Grace then, holding her close and Grace allowed the touch, her body welcoming it as the news sunk in. "I couldn't go with Jacob. Yesterday in the balloon I tried to visualize myself going with Jacob to Santa Fe – I couldn't do it, Grace. I kept seeing you and this house. It feels like home here. I feel at home with you, not in Santa Fe. Maybe one day I could visit Santa Fe, but I'd want it to be with you. You, Grace Hanson."

Grace's body shook as she gasped through tears. It felt like she was dying, like the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. Frankie wanted to stay with her. In this house. With her. She wasn't abandoning her.

Frankie's hand found Grace's and Grace let her hold on then, let her soothe her with a gentle rubbing motion.

They sat like that for some time, for what felt like ages, until Grace's breathing evened out, until she felt she could speak, could control her body. She felt completely exposed then, fearful, but there was a certain comfort in the feel of Frankie's fingers laced with her own.

"No one's every touched me like that." Grace admitted quietly, tentatively.

"Oh, Grace." Frankie's brow furrowed, pulling Grace's hand to her lips to kiss the back of it.

"I've never, I've never felt like… _that_. And I – I couldn't…I don't think I could manage if you didn't mean it."

"Of course I mean it, Grace. I don't fondle women's tits if I don't mean business." That Frankie grin sparkled, lit up her whole face.

"I've been so horrible to you and yet you're still here and it scares me. You have to believe that I've been so scared. So, so scared."

"I know that, Grace." Frankie smirked, patting her hand. "I see you, Hanson. I've always seen you." And Grace knew this to be true.

Yet she could only do what she did best. "You're making a huge mistake. Jacob's a lot less complicated than I am." Grace pointed out, holding Frankie's hand just a little bit tighter.

"You think I haven't noticed?" Frankie's fingers trailed over Grace's cheeks, wiping away the tears.

"You can go." Grace whispered.

Frankie leaned in closer, pulling their bodies ever so much nearer to one another. Grace's breathing had evened out, but seemed to catch in her throat for a moment. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Grace bit her lip, eyes lost in the cool orbs of her housemate. "What is it we're doing here?"

"I believe we kissed this morning after and before some light petting and now we're confessing our feelings for one another." Frankie recapped.

"Really, is that what we did?" Grace leaned back, afraid of what this meant to them, about them. Them as a unit, as a couple. "What are we doing?"

"Well," Frankie surveyed the scene for a moment and Grace almost, almost bought that she was truthfully contemplating. Almost. "It appears we're still holding hands and you're crying."

"Can you be serious, Frankie?" Grace pulled her hand to extract it but Frankie held tight.

"I'm taking this seriously, Grace."

"Then what have we done. Only yesterday you were on the fence about leaving with Jacob and now today you're in my bed, 'doing things to me', as you would say, and I…I need something definitive. I'm not good at not knowing and I-"

"Grace, Grace. Calm down for a minute, man. You're racing a million miles ahead."

"Yeah, well don't you think you got a little carried away this morning then?" Grace shifted, pulling her robe tighter about herself with her free hand, needing something to do, to protect herself.

"I was just following your lead."

"Is that all it was?" Grace recoiled then, ripping her hand from Frankie and staring at her, all the pain and hurt and discomfort of all her past failed relationships, all the unrequited moments pooling together into crystal blue eyes.

"Of course not, Grace." Frankie huffed, fists hitting the air at her sides, flustered. "Okay, you want serious Frankie Bergstein then serious Frankie Bergstein you get, sister." Frankie turned to her again, clasping her hands in her own before the blonde woman could pull them away. "You make me feel things, Grace. You always have, sometimes not pleasant, sometimes shitty when you say the mean bullshit you say about me and my family, when you disown me to your friends, to all those times you ignored me at gatherings, when you nearly shot me...But there were always our stolen moments along the way. I liked you then."

"I don't see how, I've been an absolute asshole to you."

"Yeah, well you're a Goddamn loveable asshole."

Grace grimaced at the words, uncouth as they were.

"I mean that in a very positive way." Frankie winked and then glanced down at their entwined hands. Grace could sense the following words would hold a certain truth to them. "Grace, I don't think you've ever had that one person who loved you. Unconditionally." Frankie pointed out.

"Well, as Brianna told me, I'm not very unconditional with myself so I can't imagine I have." Grace was finding solace in the feel of their hands then entwining, feeling a sort of comfort in their contact and open, honest communication, in this truthful conversation. Serious Frankie Bergstein was certainly showing up for her when she needed her.

"I've watched you unfold, though. I've seen you change. Yeah, you kind of fucked up that lunch with Jacob and you got a little carried away with the gun."

Grace rolled her eyes.

"But you're not the same Grace that was buried under that sham of a marriage. I've really grown to appreciate the Grace that lives here in this beach house with me. Well, I live in the studio, but you know what I mean."

"I do." Grace nodded through tear-rimmed eyes. "Do you forgive me for how awful I've been?"

"It is my very Frankie Bergstein nature that allows me to move past such slights as you have bestowed upon me. So yes, I do forgive you. Of course I forgive you." Frankie smiled up at her.

A feeling of relief washed over Grace, for she knew that she would spend a thousand years more if she had them to apologize to Frankie. For what the woman was making her feel now was worth all the pain she had suffered before. To get to this moment of sudden clarity and understanding of another person. This felt different, new and yet they still had not discussed the particulars. "What we did earlier…" Grace swallowed. "Is that what you'd want?"

Frankie stroked her arm gently, seemingly lost in their contact. "Is that what you want, Grace?" Frankie's fingers tucked a strand of blonde hair from Grace's cheek, lightly caressing her neck as fingers trailed over skin.

Grace felt her chest clinch in exquisite pain, her skin tingling at the contact. "What about Jacob?" She whispered, Frankie's hand cupping her cheek, those light orbs dancing over her lips, tracking their every motion.

"Jacob….Jacob who? Why do you keep bringing him up?" Frankie whispered. "I enjoyed his company. He's very caring, and that endless supply of yams didn't hurt. I enjoyed that you seemed to approve of him, that you pushed me to try something with him at first. I felt – odd as it sounds – closer to you because you pointed out he liked me. But I didn't, necessarily, understand your tension with him until, well, until this morning. I can't lie, I'm certainly glad that it happened."

"You are?" Grace covered Frankie's hand with her own, pressing a kiss to her palm.

Frankie's eyes were dilated, widened and focused, more focused than she'd ever seen Frankie.

"For God's sake, Frankie. Kiss me," Grace whispered into the afternoon breeze. Her fingers curled into the collar of Frankie's frock and pulled her into her. Those lips from that morning found hers, pressed and opened to her in reverence. To kiss Frankie was something inexplicable. The way her lips moved, sure and peaceful, warm and inviting, loving, caring, concerned, healing.


	3. Dusk

Dusk

I'll Keep You Safe / Atlas

watch?v=lOQrfLFDUKY

Darkness will be rewritten  
Into a work of fiction, you'll see  
As you pull on every ribbon  
You'll find every secret it keeps  
The sound of the branches breaking under your feet  
The smell of the falling and burning leaves  
The bitterness of winter  
Or the sweetness of spring  
You are an artist  
And your heart is your masterpiece  
And I'll keep it safe

Their bodies were touching, a warmth Grace had never known shrouding her pressed up against Frankie's side, the beach blanket wrapped up tight about them to shield from the chilly ocean air of the oncoming evening. Frankie's arm had slid about her, pulling her impossibly closer still, her fingers breezily brushing against the cardigan at her side. The cardigan which Grace had donned when Frankie had urged her to come outside with her, out to the beach. With a bottle of wine in hand and two glasses Frankie had taunted her out of their home, further down the beach to a little cove where they could be alone.

She had not wanted to be anywhere outside, feeling as raw and exposed as she was. But there was a clarity to the fresh ocean air, to the smell of evening, of a city settling down for the night. Business as usual for so many about them, but there was a spark of something new for them. They were on the cusp of something.

Their conversation earlier had flowed into a breaking open and shattering that left Grace vulnerable, yet lighter. Her body was exhausted from tears, but there was a strange solace in it. A power in the feeling of her emotions out in the open now, no more holding anything in, no more unrecognized yearnings. There was an understanding to what it was they were doing.

She hadn't seen it coming. Would have never expected it to end up this way. If someone had told her she would end up falling for Frankie Bergstein she would have laughed in their face. But laughing she was not.

Frankie's hand buried its way between her pajama bottoms and the cardigan to caress skin. Though the woman herself seemed not to register her actions at all, was only staring out to the ocean. Listening contentedly to the waves crashing upon the shore. There was a smile on her lips, her look of serenity made the whole scene feel peaceful.

"You're staring at me, Grace." Frankie's lips moved and Grace was fascinated by their motion.

"You're touching me." Grace whispered, not shying away from the warm sensation of Frankie's fingers spread out on her side.

"Is it okay?" Frankie turned to face her, as if afraid she might dart away in her sensitive state.

Grace, whose eyes betrayed her in their descent from Frankie's eyes to her lips and back again, leaned forward and pressed their lips together. "Yes." She threaded her arm about the other woman and leaned in to rest her head on Frankie's shoulder. "'s comfortable."

There was so much more to discuss, so much more to figure out, to acknowledge. Though a sleepiness fell over Grace, exhausted as she was from her emotional day. She wanted to be concerned about many things, but the comfort of their bodies pressed together, of the blanket wrapping about them like a cocoon made her mind falter and halt before delving into the negatives.

"What would the kids think if they caught us like this?" The question flowed from her subconscious.

"Who gives a fuck what the kids think. They can think what they want. They already have gay dads, might as well have some gay moms to match." Frankie clutched tighter at Grace.

"I guess you're right." Grace breathed, realizing that for the first time she was not afraid of others. There was a certain strength in Frankie's arms that made her almost believe that no one else's opinions of her mattered. Frankie had always helped her to see herself better. "You know, for once I'm not concerned about the kids, or what my sister would think, or what Robert would think, or anything. I feel…comfortable with you. Protected." Grace stared up at Frankie then, shifting so that her arm fell over Frankie's lap, bringing them face to face. "You can never leave me."

Frankie grinned and tangled her fingers in Grace's hair. "Grace, I'm not going to Santa Fe. We've already discussed this to death."

Tears pooled at the edges of Grace's eyes. "I know…it's not that. It's not…"

"What is it?" The pad of Frankie's finger slid beneath Grace's eyes, wiping away the new moisture.

"When you had that stroke, when…" Grace looked down. "I felt so lost, I felt so alone, so helpless. I hated Jacob that night. I hated him because he had the right to hold you and I wanted…I didn't sleep that night." Grace fumbled over her words.

"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't sleep that night, either." Frankie offered.

"You don't need to make me feel better about it, you just…can't leave." Grace grasped at Frankie's frock, swirling it in her hands. "I don't think I could go on."

"I was really freaking scared that night, Grace. I'm still scared." Frankie admitted.

"I know, and it's unfair. It's unfair that we've known one another all of this time and only now, only today we've finally put our finger on something and it…it could just…slip away."

"Grace, Grace," Frankie's hands moved up to cup her cheeks. "Grace, you're always living in the future. Be here with me now." Frankie forced Grace's eyes to her own.

"I've never been good at that hippie bullshit." Grace scoffed, feeling some of her pint up tension slipping away.

"I thought my hippie bullshit was what you loved about me." Frankie laughed.

 _Loved_. Love. That seemed just about right. They had said it a million times before. Frankie was loose with the term. It slid from her mouth so easily, so carelessly. Grace had only said it and meant it so few times in her life. She loved Brianna and Mallory. Perhaps she didn't express it to them often enough, perhaps she didn't use the word like she should, but she did love them. She had thought what she and Robert had had was love, but it was not and she could only remember using the term with him several times. Her high school beau with his fast-working fingers had been an illusion of first love. The female accountant at Say Grace she'd spent months pinning over without understanding her infatuation … perhaps that had been love.

But nothing seemed comparable to the love she was feeling in this moment. It was something new, something unexplored. Freeing, earth-shattering, life-altering, game-changing love. The kind of romantic love that one only dreams about as a child. The kind in those fairy-tales, those goddamn Disney movies that Grace loathed.

She had never, _never_ thought this possible, never thought this a true phenomenon that occurred in nature. She had thought this sort of love only existed in tawdry novels and box-office movies. But here she was, seventy-three and experiencing love for the first time in its raw and heartbreaking, heartaching form.

"What is that pretty little head covered in lots of hair thinking about?" Frankie's voice floated back into her conscience again, reminding her that the woman was truly there. In the present, before her. That they were truly facing one another and had kissed and could kiss freely, had been wrapped up together for half the day, had rolled about in Grace's bed that morning. She had nearly run away from all of it, but here they were.

Grace facing Frankie, staring at her head on, unafraid yet so afraid. "Love."

Frankie laughed, a knowing look crossing her features. "Yeah, what do you think about it?"

"I don't think I can express what I feel for you in such a simple word."

"My Grace Hanson, a poet and philosopher. Who knew I'd evoke such things from a blonde, vodka soaked WASP."

"Hey, it was you who brought out this wine." Grace nodded towards the empty bottle and glasses beside them.

"You looked like you needed a glass or two." Frankie smirked.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Bergstein?" Grace's eyebrow rose.

Frankie looked mischievously on, that sparkle gleaming in her eyes. Eyes that had stared lovingly at Grace, had been angry, frustrated, sad, happy, hopeful. Such expressive eyes and this look, this look Grace had seen once or twice before. In passing. That night, that night after they'd fought about the gun, the night that Frankie had locked her out. There had been this look as Frankie slowly let her back in, slowly allowed her entrance back into their home. There had been this look when Grace had sympathetically hurt her hip alongside Frankie and Frankie had stared up at her from beneath her as she'd slithered over her. There had been this look – God, if she thought about it long enough - the night they'd gone dancing and had their car towed and Frankie had forced her to tickle her arm. There had been that look. This look that Frankie was bestowing upon her now.

"This morning…" Grace trailed off, afraid again to even acknowledge what they had done, to put words to it because it made it feel so real. Though there was a new hue to it, the softening of the lens about the memory of that morning.

"Yes, Grace." Frankie urged her on, wrapping the blanket more tightly about them as the night was rapidly approaching and the beach had grown chilly.

"You wanted – you'd thought about it? Before this morning?" Grace was embarrassed to ask, having thought that perhaps it had all been her own doing. Perhaps she'd willed the actions herself without Frankie's conscious consent. Though there had been a tenderness to it, a driven focus that Frankie could not have summoned on the spur of the moment. No, this was deliberate, had been thought of beforehand.

"Well, we're two women living alone in a house together. The mind does tend to wander. You can't tell me you hadn't thought about it before." Frankie poked.

"No, I mean – yes, I suppose I had. I thought about the idea of you. That night when Bud pointed out, firmly, that we loved one another…I was so high, but I have to admit I had a thought. About you." Grace felt her cheeks growing warm at the thought. "But you…you had Jacob. You seemed very content with him."

"Grace, I'm not going to sit here and compare you to Jacob. You and Jacob are two entirely different humans who gave and or give me two very different things." Frankie assured her. "Of course I'd had thoughts about you. I wondered how your call to your aunt was going that day we got the prototypes. I thought about you that night we had the break in."

"When we were in bed together?"

"Well don't sound so shocked." Frankie scoffed. "Hey, what would you have done if I'd reached for you then?"

"What would I have done? What did I do. You were practically on top of me the next morning. I was pulling your hair out of my mouth for a good ten minutes after I managed to pry myself from your death like grasp."

"It's good hair." Frankie winked. "Yours isn't so bad, either."

Grace sighed, folding herself back into Frankie's side. "So it was inevitable that we might find ourselves in that position again?"

"'Fraid so, bed mate." Frankie kissed her forehead, as if it were a promise she vowed to keep from that moment forward.

Did that mean that they were destined to sleep together every night for the rest of their lives? God, Grace wanted their lives to stretch on for eternity. There didn't seem to be enough time. But could she truly sleep every night with Frankie thrashing about, wrapping herself about her, literally knocking the wind out of Grace, making her sweat from the heat of her body? Bed mates. She and Frankie Bergstein. The crazy hippie lady whom she now, somehow, oddly loved. No, there was no word for it.

They needed one another. Perhaps they always had and only now, only when Grace had dared to step outside of herself and open herself just a little bit…now she had allowed this wild and crazy, inexplicable love to consume her, take her over.

"What if I'm no good at it?" Grace whispered into Frankie's side and she realized without a thought that she had just voiced her hesitation from that morning. Her fear, she realized, stemmed from that doubt.

"I'm certain you'll be good at it."

"I don't know. I'm good at everything I've ever done, but this…this feels different." Grace found her fingers burying in the fabric at Frankie's side, holding onto her like a security blanket. "More important."

"You know, you've really turned a corner, Grace. I like this honesty from you." Frankie pulled her closer.

"I'm just scared. Honestly." Grace peeked up at Frankie and found a sort of solace in her loving gaze.

Frankie reached out to stroke her cheek, to pull her in for a kiss. "I won't bite, too hard anyway."

Grace laughed at the clichéd phrase, burying herself into Frankie. She trusted her. Trusted her almost too easily – which should scare her, but it didn't. Frankie wouldn't hurt her intentionally. This she seemed to know.

They sat in silence a moment longer, staring out across the darkened sea. The moon glimmered and sparkled across the glassy surface and Frankie pulled Grace tighter.

"You know, Jacob asked me - after asking me to move to Santa Fe - if I really saw myself living here with you for the rest of my life." Frankie admitted to the evening sky. "I kept using you as an excuse, I kept telling him that you were here and you needed me."

"How did you answer?" Grace suddenly turned out of Frankie's embrace, an errant tear sliding down her cheek – though she had thought she could cry no more that evening. But something in Frankie's seriousness scared her.

"I…I couldn't answer him. Until that night when I told him, for sure, I could absolutely not go with him." Frankie looked deep into Grace's eyes.

Grace seemed to understand this, inexplicably. "You chose me."

Frankie's smile spread over her lips, lighting up her eyes in the moonlight. "I did." She picked up Grace's hand and kissed her knuckles. "I did, and it wasn't until this morning that I knew, absolutely for certain, that I'd made the right decision. Even if it had never happened though I couldn't leave you." Frankie cupped Grace's cheek, unable to keep from kissing her again. "Besides, who else can keep you well-oiled and moving?"

Grace laughed, full and loud into the night air, a whirling sensation of ease and happiness filling her in a way she had never experienced those emotions before in her life. One wrong move and it all could have shattered, but they had kept going forward, they had traversed the scary terrain and now Frankie was here. For good. With her.

Grace shivered in Frankie's arms.

"Come on, let's get you inside. You don't have enough fat on your bones to last much longer." Frankie nudged her and the duo climbed and crawled their way back into upright positions and then Frankie was wrapped about Grace and Grace about Frankie as they huddled beneath the blanket to make the walk back to the beach house.


	4. Twilight

Twilight

Shiver / Amber Run

 _Girl, you are free_

 _to be all that you wanted to be_

 _And now, I can breathe_

 _and let these four wall dissolve around me_

* * *

She had no idea how they had gotten here. As if it had come full-circle, as if the entire day had not unfolded before them, opened itself and revealed a whole new world.

They sat on her bed, sat there atop the sheets, fully clothed. The wine had only done so much, and something about the moment felt like alcohol was not the solution. Alcohol was the furthest thing from Grace's mind. Frankie, Frankie beside her, Frankie fidgeting, fumbling for her hand.

"Well," Frankie sighed, "we've made it this far."

"Yes, I suppose we have." Grace agreed, allowing their hands to entwine. That was easy enough, to have that level of intimacy. Grace wondered if this was all that they needed, perhaps they needn't go any further.

The memory of that morning, of how Frankie had moved deftly over her, fingers, lips knowing, knowledgeable, roused her to not shy away though. Perhaps it could be re-explored.

"We're not getting any younger, Grace." Frankie nudged at her.

"No shit." Grace laughed, feeling some of the tension that had built up inside of her release. She turned to face Frankie, to take in the woman beside her. This was the woman whom she was about to share an intimate evening with? This woman whom she'd seen for the last forty years of her life, ever since Robert had started up the business with Sol, but this was the first day she had really _seen_ Frankie. Seen her for who she was. "Well," Grace resigned, "how do we begin?"

"Oh, don't act like you have trouble with the concept. I was there too this morning." Frankie admonished.

"Well, I've never…and it's…different." Grace conceded, feeling awkward, too straight-laced to fully allow herself to _go there_.

"What do you do?"

"What do you mean?" Grace felt her stomach drop, flustered, nervous.

"Don't make me spell it out, Grace. How do you like to fuck yourself?" Frankie turned herself so that she was facing Grace, sitting up in the bed.

"I-I," Grace scooted up the bed a little further, as if wanting to get away from Frankie's prying eyes. "Well I use the vibrator and I…"

"Show me." Frankie crossed her arms and waited for Grace to hop to. Grace did not hop to. Instead she looked shocked.

"You want me to…in front of you?"

"I'd like to see what you like so I could improve upon it. So yes, I want you to. In front of me." Frankie waited.

Grace sat. Continued sitting. "You mean, without clothes on."

"How else would I see, Grace?" Frankie held her ground, stood firm in her idea.

"I've never done…not in front of anyone." Grace was baffled.

Frankie leaned forward and reached over Grace, a wave of Frankie's distinct scent throwing Grace off-guard, her breath catching in her throat. Frankie rustled through her bedside table and soon extracted the object of desire. "I've been curious," Frankie handed it over. "I'd like to compare techniques."

Grace continued to sit, now with the object in her hand.

"You know, if I didn't know you better I'd think you didn't want to sleep with me after all." Frankie crossed her arms.

"Well, sleeping _with_ you is another story entirely. This is…"

Frankie pressed their lips together, to shut Grace up, to stop her from thinking. Her hands were on the band of Grace's pajama pants – her inability to change clothes had stretched itself throughout the day – and gently edged them off.

"Frankie," Grace feigned embarrassment, worry about this undressing, but she did not protest, did not fight the woman as they fumbled with getting the offending garment off, twisting and turning until she was left in her underwear.

Grace felt exposed, her bare legs stretched out before her and Frankie hovering over her. She pulled her in to kiss her, to perhaps distract her away from what she had asked her to do. Frankie's fingers were on her again, sliding her pajama top upwards, removing it in one almost graceful motion.

"Well now this is just unfair. You're completely clothed." Grace shivered a bit as Frankie sat back from her.

"I suppose you're right," Frankie conceded and the duo struggled to free her of her long dress. Grace gaped, having only ever caught brief sights of the other woman when she'd happen upon her in her shower on accident. She had never seen the body beneath all those frocks and baggy harem pants. The body was strong, soft as her arms, beautiful, stretched and loose in all the right places. She wore no undergarments. Grace could hardly bring herself to peer at the place between the other woman's legs, almost too ashamed or embarrassed to do so, but Frankie's breasts seemed safe. Her breasts hung freely, no bra as Grace's breasts were currently held in. No, Frankie's breasts hung as freely as the woman herself. They were pert, pink, soft and Grace reached out, mindlessly, to roll a hardened nub between her fingers.

"Mm, Grace." Frankie groaned and leaned forward to capture her lips again. "Show me how you like to be touched." Frankie's hands unclasped Grace's bra, freeing her breasts so that they could join her own. They touched as their lips made quick work of kissing, Grace slowly forgetting the fear and trepidation she had, at first, experienced.

She was aroused, turned on, but uncertain of how to allow herself to be so open. She wanted Frankie and she wanted to perform for her, but she also sensed that this would not be a performance like with all the men in her life. There would be no faked orgasms, no need for a show. Frankie wanted to see her for her and it was frightening.

"Do you like if you touch here," Frankie's fingers slid back to Grace's clit, back to where they had been that morning when it had all ended.

Grace squirmed, the touch through her underwear sending her head spinning a million miles a minute. She nodded and pulled Frankie back towards her, hoping and praying that Frankie would just touch her, not make her touch herself. It felt too embarrassing, too vulnerable.

Frankie spread her legs open, pressing a kiss to her stomach before pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

"What are you doing?" Grace froze.

"Show me, Grace." Frankie sat up between her legs. Her fingers hooked into the band of Grace's underwear, pulling them downwards and Grace allowed her to undress her fully, to reveal that which she was certain no one had ever truly gazed upon before. She had never thought it was anything special to behold, it was just another part of herself, a part that had strange yearnings, had birthed a child, had bled for years. It was nothing to write home about, but the way Frankie regarded her…. gazed lovingly at her as she revealed herself made her feel oddly at ease, comfortable.

There was a pause, a hesitation as Grace considered her options. She wanted, desperately, to please Frankie and do as she wanted of her, but there was a hesitation.

"What is it Grace?" Frankie's eyes did not stray from the place between her thighs, but she could sense there was something off, something holding Grace back. "So beautiful." Frankie whispered under her breath, fingers stretching up the length of Grace's thighs. Close, but not yet close enough.

"Th - thanks," Grace stuttered. Before, had anyone else ever asked such a thing, or done such a thing to her, Grace would have run. But there was something in the moment between them, in the trust and knowledge of this naked woman before her that made her stay, made her breathing even out.

"What do you need, Grace?" Frankie whispered, eyes moving upwards to address the woman.

"I'd like," Grace hesitated, not accustomed to asking for things in the bedroom. "Can you touch me?" She nearly whispered, her voice feeling small and frightened about them.

Frankie smiled, "okay, but if we do this we're going to do it right."

"What does that mean?" Grace sat up again.

"Come on," Frankie removed herself from the bed and held out her hand to Grace.

"Where are we going?" Grace wrapped her arms about herself, as if suddenly realizing that she was revealed to the cool evening air.

"Downstairs." Frankie winked, still holding out her hand.

"Naked?" Grace stuttered.

"Yes," Frankie insisted.

"No," Grace groaned, fumbling for her discarded robe. Frankie let her put it about herself and then extended her hand again.

"Come on," Frankie's eyes were dilated, hungry and it both frightened and titillated Grace.

"Where are we going?" Grace reiterated again, the whole night feeling entirely too unpredictable to her. This was so very different from her time with Phil or Guy or Robert. This felt and looked and seemed different. More adventurous, more involved.

"Just follow me." Frankie winked and led the duo carefully down the stairs, not letting go of Grace's hand as they went. They stopped at the refrigerator and Frankie extracted a little jar from the upper shelf. Wiggling her eyes at Grace she pulled her again, this time out the side door, headed to her studio.

"You are _naked_." Grace hissed, as if it weren't apparent.

Frankie shrugged, "I do this all the time. Just not when you're awake. It feels better, more natural."

"God," Grace groaned, relief washing over her when they slid into the relative privacy of the studio. The studio bedroom that she had only ventured into one or two times before, having allowed Frankie this one place to be as messy as her heart desired.

Though when they reached the threshold of Frankie's bedroom Grace found herself taken aback by the relative lack of disorganization. The bed was made up, various plants sat about on the window ledges and a shelf placed over the bed. There were unlit candles cluttering most of the space, some various odds and ends that Grace was certain were used for some strange voo-doo Frankie practiced in her spare time.

"You know, if you kept the house looking as neat as this room I might have a heart attack." Grace murmured, forgetting for a second what it was they were doing. What it was she had followed the woman in here for.

Frankie came to face her, "don't you know it's all a show just to get your goat?" She laughed and pulled Grace to her lips. "Now lay down, I've got a fresh batch of yam lube and not that toxic shit Brianna is selling." Frankie pressed Grace firmly onto the bed, bringing Grace's face level with her very naked, very exposed vagina.

Grace's eyes went wide, intrigued by the natural state of it. Frankie caught her looking and laughed. "You can touch it, Grace."

"Oh, I don't…" Grace clamed up again. How would she even know what to do?

"Okay, okay, we'll start from the beginning, lay back." Frankie eased her back onto the bed, one knee placed between her legs as she pulled back her robe so that it circled about Grace's body, revealing all of her glorious flesh for Frankie's eyes to feast upon. "You really drive me wild, Hanson."

Grace tried to laugh to herself, but her body felt rigid. Frankie bowed her head and kissed at Grace's neck.

"Relax," Frankie whispered against her ear, nibbling at the lobe. The sensation sent shivers through her body, releasing some of the tension that had grasped her. She let her arms circle about Frankie, pulling her closer as she teased and taunted her neck.

Frankie really knew how to kiss. Each touch of her lips was warm, vibrant against Grace's skin. "Frankie," Grace whispered, nuzzling against her wild mane of hair that smelled of lavender and marijuana and sage.

"Mmm?" Frankie's lips hummed against Grace's nipple.

"Frankie, touch me." Grace pleaded, a desire rising deep from within. The words startled her, for she had never asked for such a thing. Had never driven or taken the lead in asking for what she wanted in bed. It was years of giving into Robert when he was in the mood and willing to blindly nail her into the bed. This, with Frankie, was intimate. This felt safe.

Frankie held herself up and took a moment to dip her fingers into the open jar on the bedside table. She caught Grace's eye and deliberately moved downwards, the yam concoction making cool contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves between Grace's legs.

"Oh!" Grace called out in surprise and pleasure. Her body tensed, but Frankie kissed her.

"Relax." Frankie reminded her, fingers now swirling about freely, openly. Her hand glided gently about, dipping momentarily inside then dragging back out and upwards.

"Oh," Grace slowly eased into it, beginning to warm up to the motions, the artful way in which Frankie drew as if creating one of her pieces of art. Her finger the brush, Grace her canvas.

"Relax," Frankie whispered again, her lips moving downwards, swirling one nipple then trailing down Grace's stomach.

"What are you doing?" Grace panted, knuckles then placed between teeth, eyes wide as she watched Frankie's movements.

"No one's ever….?" Frankie asked between kisses.

Grace shook her head, a sort of fear ripping through her.

"Relax, honey. Let me take care of you." Frankie kissed her inner thigh, those fingers still gliding seamlessly between Grace's moistened lips.

The first kiss was warm. Placed right at the apex, above her swollen center. The sensation sent a jolt through Grace and she relaxed back, opening herself a little more to Frankie. The next kiss ended with a tongue tasting, testing. The tongue flattened against her and she gasped.

Frankie's hand found hers, tangling their fingers together upon the bedsheet. And just like that Frankie was with her, was comforting her as she slowly lavished Grace. It was an experience unlike any other Grace had ever had in her life. The feel of lips against her was different from a penis pressing in and out, mechanically. This was different than blind fingers pushing and touching. This was deliberate, slow and it felt like heaven. This, _this_ could not be recreated by their vibrator. This could not be so easily bottled up and sold to stores. This was amazing.

Grace, for a brief moment, lost herself to the feel of Frankie. Frankie buried inside of her, holding onto her, kissing her most private area. There was a great deal of pleasure in it and she gave over to the sensations, to the moment as it was. There was something so peaceful, surrounded by all things Frankie, the moon shining brightly through the windows.

There was a feeling that started between her legs and spread like wildfire throughout the rest of her. A feeling of lightness, of momentary bliss shattered her body, made her shake uncontrollably.

"I've got you," Frankie was whispering, holding onto her, comforting her. "I've got you, Grace."

She felt like she was falling, like this might be the very end or the very beginning. She was being born anew and there were tears, so many tears. She gasped, grasping at Frankie, pulling her close to her, fearful, open, exposed.

"I'm here." Frankie reassured her, running her hands through Grace's hair, pulling her close.

The room came back into focus slowly. Grace felt lightheaded, untangled, open. It was a delightful sensation, wholly unexpected. It had been so powerful.

"Are you okay?" Frankie asked, dark eyes gazing deeply, lovingly down at her.

Grace could only nod, searching for words, for anything that could explain what it was that had just occurred. "That was…" she gasped, "that was different."

Frankie just laughed and pulled Grace to her, kissing her deeply. "Good different, I do hope."

"Very good. Too good." Grace wiped at her cheeks. "God, why did I wait until seventy-three to experience _that_?"

"I guess I'm just worth waiting for." Frankie looked entirely too smug about herself.

"Hey, how did you get so good at that?" Grace panted, working to catch her breath, to calm her body down.

Frankie grinned, "it was the seventies. A wild time of experimentation. Sol and I used to host parties."

"Like sex parties?" Grace's eyes went wide.

"Yeah, like sex parties." Frankie lovingly twirled her fingers in Grace's hair. "Come to think of it, I should have known Sol was gay all those years ago. He certainly liked Chester and Arty." Frankie was lost in the memory of her wild days.

"I bet you were a real lady pleaser." Grace bit her lip, a slight look of jealousy crossing her features as she reached out to stroke Frankie's cheek.

"I never had any complaints." Frankie pulled them together for a kiss, a sort of reassurance that Grace was her main objective now and none of the past mattered.

"Oh yeah?" Grace found her strength and twirled them before Frankie could brace herself. Frankie was on her back pinned beneath Grace. "Well it's my turn."

Frankie laughed beneath her. "You really got me going, Grace. No lube needed." Frankie pulled her hand down to her center and Grace's eyes widened at the first brush of the velvety soft wetness.

"That _is_ impressive." Grace slid her finger through the moistness, delighting in the sensation. "You feel heavenly."

Frankie smiled smugly, fighting to stay present as the sensations of Grace's hand took her away.

"I think I've got this," Grace twisted out of Frankie's guiding grasp.

"You certainly seem to, you little Sappho goddess." Frankie quipped, body arching as Grace hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Who'd of thought. The two of us queer for one another." Grace mused to herself, a finger sliding into Frankie, enjoying the feel of her.

"I think people might have thought it, after all," Frankie sighed, "we do live together."

"We were platonic roommates."

"Not anymore." Frankie corrected.

"No," Grace stared down at Frankie's heaving chest. "Not so much anymore." Her lips found the taut breast and she sucked at it gently, evoking a strangled moan from Frankie. "The female body is magnificent."

"Grace," Frankie gasped, reaching for her, fingers digging into flesh. "You're so gay." And as the words left her mouth Frankie tumbled over, body shaking, shivering.

"I love you, too." Grace watched on, proud of her ability to give Frankie what she had given her.

Frankie twisted onto her side and Grace fell to face her, exhaustion overtaking her. Her arm stayed wrapped about Frankie and she watched her until her breathing evened out, pressing light kisses to her cheeks.

Frankie reached for Grace's hand, holding the wrist in her palms. She brought the object to her lips and kissed at the delicate skin. "Does it hurt?" She asked, almost guiltily.

Grace rolled to face her, pressed their lips together, allowing Frankie to massage the tender muscles. "Only a little, but it was well worth it."

"Grace," Frankie's eyes opened and she stared at her bedmate, really looked at her as if she could see into her soul. "You're really okay with this?"

Grace held her tighter. "I've never been more okay in my life." Grace admitted, truthfully. For she had never felt this way, this comfortable, contented way. It was all too easy, too effortless to be here in Frankie's arms. Wrapped up about her, their limbs tumbling together, entwining so that it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. A warmth surrounded her, the soft, smooth skin of her bedmate, lover, friend pressed up against her. It was heaven. If she had to die she would prefer it to be just like this. She nearly asked Frankie to promise her that would be so, but held back. Content in that moment beneath the full moon, the distant crashing of waves against the shore.

The night was comfortable then, the night was no longer scary. Not when she had a Frankie to guide her through.


End file.
